


Turn On The Light

by Fervidflowering



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 10:15:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12505108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fervidflowering/pseuds/Fervidflowering
Summary: Collection of drabbles set in my AU of how Karen Page runs from her past and meets Frank Castle in New York City. She still becomes a journalist and he still becomes the Punisher, things just take a different route.





	1. resist much, obey little - Walt Whitman

She tries not to fold in on herself as the lawyers keep talking. Franklin, blonde, is saying something about the bodyguard while the one with the dark classes, Murdock, continues his silence. She swears he cocks his head at one point like a dog and at that point she’s had enough.

“I appreciate the offer, but you’ve just started practicing, so maybe I’ll stick with whoever the department has on retainer. ” Gravity is pulling her further into the bed and the drugs they’ve given her are doing their job as well. She’s not looking forward to when they wear off. She knows she should be worried about charges against her, should be angry and vitriolic about the nerve of someone to spout off that it’s her fault she got shot in the shoulder by their bodyguard. Whatever they’ve got her on is just that good.

The blonde one stutters to a silence and pauses a moment. She can tell something’s going on by the look on his face and she should be worried about that, but that’s too much effort. 

“That sounds like a good decision on your part Ms. Page. Me and my partner will just-” He was ducking out. Or trying - his partner starts talking for the first time. 

“We aren’t just ambulance chasers Ms. Page,” he starts in, hands still on his cane, face tilted just off center from her face. “Someone from within your department contacted us and told us that you would need some legal counsel. Apparently, whoever it was you were shot by, has pull. And so, you have us here, sitting at your bedside, rather than your department’s own legal counsel, who I'm sure could offer you decent support in court. Now, I’m not saying your department’s counsel won’t come by here. But I wouldn’t bet my last dollar that they would be on their way to come offer you their full support. We are offering you our full support-” The blonde hisses at his partner. A hand goes up to cut him off. “I believe you’re telling the truth Ms. Page. Let us help you ensure that you get the right compensation.” He pulls out a card and hands it to his partner, who in turn places it on her bedside table. “Call us when you’re ready.” 

The door tinkles their disappearance. And Karen sinks back into the hospital bed, eyes falling shut under the drugs and the weariness of the past eight hours. She just needs some rest and all of this will….

She wakes up to pain a couple times in the night. A nurse had dimmed the room lights sometime after she fell into a drug hazy sleep. She ignores the shadows on the walls, gives the nurses enough time to come by and check on her and help put her under for a few more hours.


	2. you have to fight to be alright

Fingers clench, grip and re-grip her purse strap, as she takes the stairs to her apartment. She can feel someone peaking around the corners behind her back and she knows that as soon as she turns around there will be no one. It’s like Vermont all over again. 

She takes the last flight two stairs at a time. Her lungs sit just a little higher in her chest as she steps down the hallway towards her door. And as key meets lock she can’t help but peer back at the stairwell. It’s anxiousness coupled with fear drunk down with a dash of paranoia that sets her head on a swivel, she knows. The adrenaline stops rushing in her ears and she takes another breath once her shoulders meet the back of her door. Tonight’s going to require a melatonin. 

Karen drops her purse on the couch and shucks out of her jacket, tossing that down to join the purse. The heels come off easily and she kicks those to the side as she walks across the rug and over to her window. Her neon lit window with a view of a shitty little alley way and another building. It’s been nine years. Maybe she could get something more permanent. Something a little nicer. Somewhere a little higher, too. That’d be-

Her breath freezes in her throat. There had just been a sound. Somewhere- Shit. Karen spins and goes for her purse, tiptoeing across the rug and ducking down below the top of her couch as she shoves her hand into the side pocket. She undoes the safety before standing up and catches movement in her bedroom doorway. 

“Put your hands up or I swear I will blow you away,” she hisses at the hulking shadow shuffling into the main room. She should have turned on the lights, she should have turned on the lights, she should-

“Hey, hey, Page, it’s okay, it’s me.” His voice is soft and familiar and his movements are slow as he walks further into the living room-kitchenette, into the neon light filtering in through the blinds. And Karen’s cursing herself because she hasn’t gotten enough sleep and in this fucking halflight he looks like- 

“Frank?” She can’t help the broken whisper that slips out. It hits the back of her teeth and drags nails up her throat. She must be hallucinating. Maybe she’s already passed out. But a dead man walks further into her living room with his hands behind his head and she’s forgotten that her pistol is aimed at his chest until he speaks up again. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me. It’s okay.” He walks a little closer to her. She lowers the gun and replaces the safety and she can’t stop staring at his face. “I’m gonna lower my arms now, okay?” He’s still talking so softly, like she’s a caged animal about to run for it. She can do nothing but nod at him after a few moments and it’s only then that he begins to lower his arms. He looks ….

“You look different.” It’s out of her mouth just like his name without her say-so and she wants to pull it back in, rewind time just a step, because his face pinches before it goes back to that face she remembers him using on scared kids and adults, the ones who can’t believe they’re allowed to leave. “Shit. Frank.” She plops the gun down on her couch and moves around it. She catches one of her hands before it goes to his face, but the other goes to his arm and she’s scanning him, checking him over, and she’s not waking up so it can’t be a dream. “What the hell happened to you?”


	3. no is short for fuck off

She wakes groggy and with her right side irritated and feeling red and her chest weighted down. Drugs are still in her system then. In the dim light, Karen Page twists in her bed, looking for the low murmuring she hears coming from - the tv. A glance back at the bedside table shows the embossed card of Nelson & Murdock. Her right arm itches under the plaster. It’s only been a day. The department’s busy with several cases at the moment. Probably couldn’t spare a lawyer her way. Though someone wasn’t busy enough to call some fresh meat and point them in her direction. 

Chatter outside of her hospital room eventually draws her attention away from the fourth True Housewives episode Mrs. Friedel had on. 

A nurse walks by the window and opens the door. Two determined children push past as two adults walk by the window. They’re slower than they usually are - the children. They usually sprint into family friends’ arms. Instead, Lisa holds tight to Junior’s sleeve and arm. Her face is a determined little frown that pulls the corners of her mouth down. So much like her father’s face when he breaks the news that someone’s kid isn’t coming home anymore. Junior twists his feet a bit at the doorway, the two of them standing there looking at Karen in bed. Karen hears a whispered ‘come on’ from the older Castles as they push the two kids past Mrs. Friedel and the teen still dozing across the room. 

“Good afternoon, you two.” She almost forgets her itch at the sight of the Castle Clan. The drugs have lessened their grip on her chest. She pulls her lips back and tries to smile. 

“Hi Ms. Page.” Lisa gives her an all too serious nod. Junior wiggles and nods once. Their energy to push past the nurse and into the room has faded. Wires and strangers and the smell are creeping in and unsettling the pair.

“Hi Karen. Well come on you two, get a little closer.” Maria throws Karen an apologetic smile before placing her hands on backs and pushing her children closer. Frank walks around to the chairs on Karen’s right and sits down. 

With a wry glance at Frank and Maria, Karen opens her eyes wide, tilts her head towards Junior and Lisa, and stage whispers, “You know how I got into the hospital?” Their eyes widen. Junior shakes his head, but Lisa nods and says, “You were shot.”

As much as she can without disturbing her right side, Karen rears back, confusion writ across her face, mouth a dramatized frown. “What? Castle, what have you been telling these two?” She leans away from Frank and Maria - who’s now seated beside him - and makes eye contact with the kids. “I didn’t get shot. I fought a tiger.” In all of her eight year old tenaciousness, Lisa looks completely unenthused. Junior’s a little easier to play. 

“You did?” With a fixed wide eyed gaze, he takes a step closer to her bed. A little smile plays on Karen’s cheek, bitten before it can come out. She nods once and doesn’t take her eyes off him.

“Yeah- your dad and I were out patrolling. When all of a sudden someone radioed in and told us that a tiger was on the loose. He made it all the way up from the Bronx, can you believe it? You wouldn’t believe how determined your dad was - he said we had to be careful, or else!” Lisa’s moved closer by this point, chest at the bed, hands on the blanket, and eyes a little less narrowed. Her dad’s always saying to be careful. Of course he would say that about a tiger from the Bronx. “But, I wanted to see the tiger and said ‘Forget carefulness! We have to stop the tiger!’ So we’re creeping through-” Karen spins the tale out for a few minutes for the two youngest Castles. By the end, they’re sitting on the bed with her, careful to mind the cast, and Junior keeps asking to see the bite, the bite, please! She says maybe, once the cast is off and the doctors say ok. Mrs. Friedel has shut her curtains while the two across the room doze under their blankets. Eventually, Maria and Frank share a look that culminates in Maria clapping her hands to draw the kids away from Karen. 

“All right munchkins, let’s go get some snacks!” Lisa and Junior shoot up from the bed and Karen curls into her right side just a hair. It feels like a burst of lightning shot a nerve before it’s gone and Karen feels silly for holding still as a statue The two of them scramble off of the bed and onto the floor. They’re halfway down the hall by the time Maria gets to the doorway and throws back that they’ll get some Dunkin Donuts and give the partners a few moments alone. 

“Thanks for bringing them in.” A little offering, pressed into the silence Maria and the kids left behind. Karen hasn’t looked back at Castle since the door shut. “You’ve got something to say, so let’s hear it.” The warmth saps out of the silence a bit at her curt words.

“Glad you’re back to your usual self.” She wants to bite out something in his direction, but when she sees a smile playing on his lips she just rolls her eyes at him. 

“Seriously Castle.” 

“You were the one babbling as they took you into the ambulance, Page.” His eyes soften and look down at her cast. “How much physical therapy are they thinking?”

“A couple months is their estimate right now. They’ll know more when the swelling goes down. Which should be later today or tomorrow. ” Bitten lips follow her statement. Eyes glance down into her lap. “I’m going to have to get the department involved with regards to insurance and all that mess.”

“Shit.” 

“Yeah. Thank goodness for unions, right?” 

“If you need anything, you know Maria and I are here for you, right?” He doesn’t reach out for her, but he shifts in his chair, centers his body so that he’s facing her directly. He’s watching her - looking through her or at her or whatever you want to call what he does. It makes her feel like even more of a phony. She can’t look him in the eyes. “I know you don’t have family around here, but if you ever need something-”

“Thanks Castle.” She cuts him off before he can say more. Her gut twists in on itself and she turns her face away too. But she will not cry in front of Frank Castle. Not again. “How’s the department?” 

He lets it drop aside with a laugh thrown into his shoulder out of the corner of his mouth. “Captain ordered me on vacation days, says I’m s’posed to be scarce til Monday. Thinks seeing your partner get shot is a ‘traumatizing experience’ or somethin’. Wanted to remind him where I was before the PD, but it’s paid vacay, so not too much to complain about. Mahoney says things aren’t too busy though. Sends his best.” His shoulders loosen and his head tilts to the side. 

She ignores his comment about Mahoney and they slip into light conversation, waiting for his family to come back with donuts and drinks. Junior and Lisa ended up buying enough for the other occupants. Mrs. Friedel grins with no teeth when they hand her a plain cake donut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to let me know if there are any grammatical or spelling mistakes.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this little snapshot of the 'Before' interactions.


	4. she kneels in the autumn bushes plucking blackberries away from thorns. sweat glistens in Her Buzzed - boykeats

He calls her from a burner phone and asks her to meet him at a diner outside of her neighborhood. 

In the dark, she dresses and sets off with her notebook and pen. Two months they’ve been working together again. Not quite a lie, though ‘together’ is a generous term. 

They’ve been in contact a grand total of three times this month alone, including this time. Last month it was two times. 

She slides into the seat across from him. Fluorescent lighting and shadows coming in from the outside paint his face in bruised shadows and pale skin. The waitress has already left him the pot of coffee. She pours her own and adds four creams. 

“You know, you got me hooked on this stupid habit. I can’t go twenty-four hours without some sort of caffeine.” It’s a little too hot on her tongue, but she drinks and looks out of the window as a car passes. 

“Are you lookin’ for an apology?”

“I wasn’t asking for-” She stops the snap before it comes all the way out and sees his teeth. Frank’s grinning underneath the bruises and the stupid baseball cap. “Want to tell me who beat your face in?” 

“Why? S’it look better than before?” He throws the coffee back and it almost feels like they’re back to being partners again. They’ve just wrapped up a case and it’s their celebratory coffee. A hat’s off to themselves before they head home. Her eyes fall to her coffee cup and the tension seeps back into her bones. 

“If you-”

“You don’t need to know this part, Karen.”

“Bullshit Frank, I-”

“Don’t.” Sharp as a whip with his chin jutting forward. Stubborn as a mule. Bruised and battered, but Frank Castle still glows with rage. Karen’s voice gets stuck somewhere between her lungs and her tongue. She sneers and falls back against the seat.

“Why the hell did you call me here Frank?” Car headlights pass by again. She turns her eyes back to his and glares. He’s told her less than nothing and his house held nothing new from the last time she came by except for some new pictures (God, they’d grown up so much in four years) and different toys. She was pulling dead end after dead end since the initial information mine at the Bulletin. 

He grunts against the coffee mug before answering her. Playing with the coffee, twirling it around in the cup, keeping his eyes off of her. 

“You heard of a vigilante running around town recently?”

“Except you and a couple has-beens, no. Why?”

“Mmph. He’s - ah, he’s been showing up where I land and getting in the way. Real preachy sonofabitch.” Takes a drag on his coffee before placing it on the table. “Wears some kinda black ninja getup. I dunno - don’t think he has anything to do with anything, but I’m getting tired of him getting in my way.” 

“Have you found something new?”

“Nah. Cleaning up the rest of the gang members I didn’t get the first time.”

“Jesus Christ Frank.” Breathless at his shoulder roll and tone of voice as if talking about brownies he’d eaten for lunch. They were cops once. “How many more bodies are going to drop?” 

“As many as it takes.” 

Headlights shock everything into sharp relief for a second and half of her former partner’s face is lit up in white light. In it,he looks like a comic book character. She didn’t remember him ever being so black and white before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Past two weeks have been very busy, hence the late update. Also, again, this is an AU, so obvs in this one Matt didn't start vigilanting at the same time as he started lawyering on his own. Somehow, he and Foggy managed to make Nelson and Murdock work for these past four years. Or maybe they didn't. All that's really set in concrete right now is that Matt's only recently started his vigilante work.  
> ** 2/26/2018 - no new chapters, but an update for the setup of this work; the line "she kneels in the autumn bushes/plucking blackberries away/ from thorns. sweat glistens in Her Buzzed" is by [boykeats](http://boykeats.tumblr.com/post/166411556772/prompt-gentle-lesbian-jesus), a tumblr run by a poet and this particular line was really beautiful and comes from a poem prompt "gentle lesbian jesus," I 100% recommend checking his tumblr out and reading his poems.


	5. the frail uncertain beating of a---heart! - Thomas Wolfe

Foggy doesn’t like this case. Yes, Karen Page is an attractive woman in distress who needs their legal expertise, as Matt had been trying to persuade him with from the minute they left Ms. Page’s room. But - and it is a very big but, as he has been trying to explain to Matt ALSO since they’d left Ms. Page’s hospital room - her case? It’s aiming accusations right at a huge unknown with a whole lot of money backing them from the looks of things.

And the rich weren’t known for losing.

“Foggy, I can hear you shuffling your papers. I get that you don’t like this-”

“No, Matt, I don’t dislike this, I am terrified of this case.” Foggy steps out from his office, papers left on his desk. “I get it, I do, you really want to help this woman plead her case-”

“She is innocent, Foggy.” This cycle was bound to repeat until one of them faltered. It’d only been a couple days since they’d checked in on Ms. Page and they hadn’t even been hired yet. And yet here they were, Matt pushing away the files that covered his desk as well. 

“So you say, Matt. But look at who she’s throwing the accusations at. Some rich asshole who’s managed to keep their name away from any of the papers we have access to and his hired goons! Even Ms. Page-”

“Karen.”

“Even. Ms. Page. Doesn’t know his name. Isn’t that a little suspicious to you? Doesn’t that scream “Hey new lawyers on the block, don’t try this one, you’ll get creamed” to you? And I didn’t go into debt for law school to try and go further into debt. And besides that! What proof does anyone have? It’s a case of he says she says and we’re backing the poorer horse.”

“Isn’t that why we got out of our internship and started our own practice, Foggy? To help the underdog?”

“Yes, Matt. When the underdog is going up against a company or a landlord or a-a shitty shop owner! But not this!” He throws his hands out wide, exhausted and exasperated. There’s nothing about the man who’s lying, only a few mentions about the hired gun who Ms. Page accused of shooting her. “What if … what if we backed off of the unknown billionaire?”

“Foggy-”

“No, hear me out - what if we backed off of the unknown billionaire and went after the NYPD instead? Sue them for-for something! Focus on the NYPD and back off of whoever this - I’m waving my hand at my office where way too many files already are - is and look at someone a little less ambiguous. I’m sure there’s something we could find. Wrongful unemployment. Failure to assist to the fullest extent they could.”

“Would Brett still be willing to throw any more ambulances our way?”

“If he’s smart, no. If we’re lucky, yes. Wipe that stupid grin off your face. You’re an awful partner. Who suggested we should start a practice together?”

“Thank you, Foggy.” Matt calls after his best friend’s retreating back. A faint smile playing across his face.

“Uh-huh.” Foggy rolls his eyes and slumps into the chair before laying his head on the stack of papers he’d shuffled and reshuffled under shitty fluorescent lighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to pop away from Karen and Frank.
> 
> **2/26/2018 - no new chapter, but an update for the format of the work; "the frail uncertain beating of a --- heart!" is a line from Thomas Wolfe, an American writer from the early 20th century. He's from North Carolina and wrote 4 long novels along with many other works.


	6. smile on my face and tears on my cheeks - poemsandmyths

It’s not raining and it’s not overcast and she sees the graves, but there shouldn’t be a funeral today. This isn’t the right weather for a funeral. It’s the precise opposite of funerary weather and she’s choking back the tears that threaten to spill over as the metal chair she’s sitting on digs into her thighs. 

“Fuck.” She bites her tongue to stifle the tears. Shifts in the metal back chair amongst former colleagues and unknown faces. Mahoney moves around the edges and she waves a hand at him and he to her. 

Uniformed police fill the seats in front of the Castle’s caskets. Ready to be lowered into the ground. This wasn’t how she wanted to see them again. She’s bobbing her leg as the priest starts up his final eulogy for the family of four. The cops around her quiet down and observe the affair. How did things change after …

The priest drones on, a few officers play on their phones, the sergeant says a few final words, and the caskets are lowered. Most of them begin to leave at that point. Mahoney does - eventually - rest a hand on her left shoulder and say it was good to see her despite the circumstances. The herd thins until it’s Karen Page, the sergeant, and two others watching Frank Junior’s casket be lowered into the ground. She leaves the flowers atop their graves and whispers she’s sorry before walking towards the subway station. 

They hadn’t spoken in almost three years. The reasons had been... they'd been shitty reasons now. The station is crowded, bodies pressed just close enough to invade the personal bubble but not close enough to touch. She pushes through the ticket machine. Breathes in the damp air of the subway. Her phone rings and she answers.

“Karen, are you done with the funeral?” 

“Yeah I’m done. What’s up?”

“How are you doin'?” 

“I’m fine Farah, thanks.” Tears are still drying on her face. “What do you need?” Headlights accompany brakes squealing under pressure. She asks her to repeat what she said.

“I said, would you be available to cover the mayor’s speech today? Riley got hospitalized - stupid stomach bug or something - and now I’ve got to cover his piece and my two and I’m a little stretched thin over here-”

“Yeah, yeah, no, no worries, I’ve got it. Where’s he doing that again?” 

“Down at the Board of Election. On 144th and Douglas. You’ve got about two hours before he’s gonna give his speech, so you can brush up on the keypoints. I’ll send you my notes. Thanks Karen!” 

“Yeah, see you.” She clicks off under the flickering lights of the subway and leans back against the plastic seat. The car rattles and shakes through the underground as she leans forward and buries her head in her hands again. She wasn’t crying, it was the car shaking her. Freedom could wait until she got home and opened up the scotch underneath her nightstand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all have a happy holiday season.
> 
> **2/26/2018 - no new chapter, but an update for the format of the work; "smile on my face and tears on my cheeks" is a line of poetry from [poemsandmyths](http://poemsandmyths.tumblr.com/tagged/meum-sol), a tumblr run by a poet who's written many a beautyful line. 100% recommend checking them out if you ever want inspiration.


	7. and ready to scream - Clementine von Radics

Her seat belt is choking her and she smells gasoline. She can't remember to just unbuckle the seat belt, or perhaps its just that her hands won't calm down. Because he's right there. Her fingertips - grasping, spread, bleeding - just brush him over and over again. Just out of reach. 

She's trying to scream as she brushes his jeans sticking out from the windshield. She's trying to call for help. 

Someone please. Fucking please. Please please please please plea-

-se. He disappears before her, replaced by an outstretched hand waving in the dark. Her lungs and chest pump wildly in her chest, her throat can't seem to carry it all. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Karen rolls over in bed and squeezes a few tears into her pillow. That was a nightmare. Her chest still feels bound. It was just a nightmare. It was only a nightmare. Her open mouthed sobs are silent as she hides them in the pillow. Tucks them into the fabric before reaching for the cup of water and bottle of melatonin pills beside the bed. She doesn't need to turn the bedside lamp on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's title is from a piece of poetry by [Clementine von Radics](http://clementinepoetry.us/), a poet and founder of Where Are You Press.


	8. something's wrong. Tell me the truth. Be brutal. Help me. - Tennessee Williams

Bleeding and sad and all in black, he slides into her darkened apartment for the tenth time this month. He makes his way unaided toward the bathroom. 

Karen rests her hand on the light switch. Breathes. Thinks. Doesn't turn on the living room light. Does take off her shoes. The heels have bitten into her skin and the relief is immediate. 

Lit up by the painful fluorescent light and squat upon the toilet, one arm in the shower, Frank exists. His back is colored blue, black, yellow, and purple. Darkest spot is at his ribs where he fell on a pile of bricks. 

And she can hear him muttering. 

He hasn't heard her. For some reason this makes the back of her throat taste raw. 

"Frank." 

His shoulders tense before her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth on the 'k' of his name. He stops murmuring. She should say something else. This kind of atmosphere - a breath in, a breath out. 

"How many stitches do you think?"

"I got this Karen. You go and relax."

"Frank. Let me help you." A beat. "Please." She watches his back and it doesn't move. Nothing about him movies. She sees no heartbeat. He doesn't inhale. When he says something her first thought is that he hadn't taken a breath. He hadn't looked like he'd moved a muscle, where did the breath- "What?"

"I'm gonna need a couple stitches." He doesn't look back at her. It's progress.

She pulls his thread and needle out of the bathroom cabinet and a towel from below the sink for her lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter's title is from a quote attributed to Tennessee Williams in the book "Follies of God: Tennessee Williams and the Women of the Fog" by James Grissom. Grissom is a writer who's written for several TV companies and Tennessee Williams was one of America's most famous playwrights, lauded as one of the top three playwrights in the 20th century. Here is a link to Grissom's book ["Follies of God"](https://www.amazon.com/Follies-God-Tennessee-Williams-Women/dp/1101972777/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&qid=1472500592&sr=8-1&keywords=the+follies+of+god&linkCode=sl1&tag=thlipu-20&linkId=9f0090f45dd213954a14ffc121bd4e33) and a link to [Williams' Wikipedia page](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tennessee_Williams).


End file.
